Oh Danny Boy
by natalieashe
Summary: Lestrade's nephew is missing, but an encounter with the Holmes brothers will change all their lives. Note, this does not fit with my lighthearted Sherstrade series for either timeline or back story. Needs to be read independently. Refers to drug use and minor character death. Rating upped just in case.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This story does not form part of my fun Sherstrade series (Whisky/Eighties/Desire) - its darker, reflecting how I feel right now, and doesn't fit with the time line or mood of the other stories. It's a bit angsty, but hope you'll give it a chance.**

The battered Mondeo crawled down the dark street, its driver squinting through the dirty windscreen at the few figures on the pavement. More than a dozen pairs of feral eyes watched the car pass, some from the shadows, a few glaring defiantly after him under the orange streetlights as he drove slowly on, searching for a familiar face. One girl stepped towards the car – too thin, too scantily dressed for the chilly night – only to be halted by a sharp tug on her arm from an older, wiser woman who muttered a few words in her ear. The driver glanced in his rear view mirror to see her watching curiously as his tail lights left them behind. _New girl, _he thought. He knew she would memorise the car – its colour, its dents and scrapes, maybe even its number plate – and would know to avoid it the next time he passed this way.

He rarely drove his own car in the city – no need when the underground and taxis were so convenient. He'd even been known to take a Boris bike on occasion, when he was in the midst of yet another health kick, but for something like this only his car would do. The regular girls all knew it down here, and the whisper would go along the street to the correct ears that an off-duty copper was cruising Prozzie Lane.

He turned a slight bend in the road and his headlights swept over one of those 'ears'. Six foot five, black as the roads and built like a pro-wrestler in a sharp suit, Benny Boy was up in some skinny kid's face, while two pale-faced girls looked on. The lad wasn't short – probably around six feet – but next to Benny he looked like the wimpy kid from school that got his head flushed weekly by the school bully. There didn't seem to be much muscle on him, but he clearly had a mouth, and whatever he was spouting at Benny had the bigger man pissed off. As he pulled across the empty street to the opposite kerb beside the small group, Benny back-handed the boy almost sending him to the floor and probably loosening teeth in the process. The kid clearly figured he was beaten, as he scuttled off into the shadows down the street towards the bridge.

"Clean up, and keep the fuck off my patch till you do," Benny yelled after him aiming a vicious kick at the lad's retreating backside that missed by a mile. He turned with a brilliant white smile to the open window of the car.

"Well, well, what do we have here? Not seen you down this way in a while Greg-oh. I hope you're down here shopping, my friend – I have two new beauts that'll blow your mind as well as your cock."

"Get lost Benny, I'm fussy about where I put my dick. Wouldn't want it to drop off. Anyway, it's DS Lestrade to you."

Benny boomed a laugh and leaned down to the Detective Sergeant's window.

"Cassie here's more like to bite your dick off but she'd make sure you enjoyed it. My girls are clean Greg-oh, you know it. Up to date with their clinics and none of them are using. Not needles anyway. And you, my friend, are off duty or you'd be here with your toy soldiers in your flashy cars, not this beat up piece of shit. What you after, if it's not one of my beauties?"

"I'm looking for a boy - blond, blue eyes, looks about fifteen…"

"Shit man, tell me you're no fucking fag paedo? I got boys if that's your flavour, but I don't take on under-age, no way!"

"You check their birth certificates now?"

Lestrade regretted the words the moment they left his lips. Benny scowled down at the detective and Lestrade was glad to have the car door between them. Benny was the best pimp this side of London, in terms of protecting his 'staff'. If they were using drugs, he helped get them sober, and he made them get regular health checks at a local doctor's surgery – if Benny said he didn't recruit under-age kids then he was telling the truth. Lestrade reached to the passenger seat and picked up a photocopied photo that he handed to the pimp.

"Specific kid, this one. His name is Danny. Danny Lestrade – might be going by Danny Lester."

Benny studied the photo by the orange of the streetlight. "Your kid?"

"My nephew – sister's boy. Eighteen but looks a lot younger. He's been missing around ten days now, and he's running low on cash so he's going to need to earn. Much as I don't want to think about it, this may be where he ends up for some quick funds."

He rubbed a hand over his eyes – they were sore from lack of sleep, but he'd made a promise to his sister he'd do everything he could to find the boy.

"He has a habit. We only found out a few days ago."

"Heroin?"

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry," Benny said, with genuine regret. "I'll ask the girls to keep an eye out. Can I keep this?"

"Sure, I have a load here. Can you pass some out? Maybe someone will see him and call. It's my personal number, not police, and I'll ask no questions, no investigations or anything. All strictly off the record – we just want him found. Oh, and maybe ask your boys too? Danny's gay."

Benny nodded accepting a handful of the fliers.

"If he's using, you need to get yourself half a mile that way and ask around. They might not help you mind; your whole demeanour screams 'copper', even if your car doesn't."

"I know," said Lestrade grimly, "but I have to try."


	2. Chapter 2

He wound the window against the chill air and continued down the road towards the railway bridge. There were girls here too, and a handful of boys, stalking the side of the road with far less wariness than Benny's staff. They blatantly stepped towards his car, one girl flashing her pathetic tiny breasts to advertise herself, while the two drug-addled girls with her screamed with laughter at his disgusted face. If Danny was down here he was in a serious mess.

He drove on slowly, scanning faces, hair colour, build. So intent was he on his quest, he almost failed to react at all when a skinny figure stumbled into his path. Instinct kicked in, jamming his feet on clutch and brake, screeching to a skidding halt as the ABS tried to compensate for the oily road. The sickening thump of a body glancing off his wing brought Lestrade's attention into sharp focus and he leapt from the car breathing hard. Benny's skinny opponent groaned by the side of the road, attempting to push himself to his feet.

"Stop, sit down!" Commanded Lestrade, "Jesus, I'll call an ambulance."

The boy gripped his wrist with unexpectedly fierce strength, his pale eyes luminous in the weak light.

"No! No hospitals. Just... Uurghh!" He moaned and clutched his side, moments later his fingers came away coated in something dark and glistening.

"Shit, you're bleeding! You need an ambulance!"

He barely unlocked his mobile before the boy struck it from his hand and it fell to the ground. The lad lifted his leg and brought the heel of his boot down hard on the screen smashing it beyond repair. "I said no!"

"What the fuck...? You need to see a doctor."

He pulled on the lad's arm, hauling him to sit against the car. He attempted to pull the boy's t-shirt up so he could examine the wound but he pulled his knees up to his chest blocking his access.

"Let me look!"

"Cost you..." The boy gasped, "Twenty... For a blow... Uuuggghh"

His eyes clenched shut with the pain, head slamming back into the car door.

"Right, that's it, I'm taking you myself. You're losing a lot of blood, and you need stitching up."

Lestrade sighed, mouth twisting with distaste at his next words.

"Look... They'll give you something for the pain... Morphine probably. Something to... Help."

He frowned at the look of desperate hope that crossed the boy's face, the promise of another fix making him suddenly compliant. With much grunting and cursing from both men, the DS managed to ease the younger into the front passenger seat. Lestrade took a moment to catch his breath, worrying at the blood that would now be seeping into his upholstery before deciding the boy's life was more important and sliding back behind the wheel of the idling car.

The drive only took ten minutes, Lestrade cutting a couple of red lights very close and praying they were unmonitored junctions. He could possibly worm his way out of a ticket arguing amber given the circumstances, but his superiors would still be pissed off. There was one space left in the area reserved for police vehicles by the side of the hospital, so he dumped the Mondeo slapping his permit on the dash. A couple of PCs two cars away stepped forward to tell him to move his vehicle, thinking he was a civilian in the wrong spot, but then the shorter of the two recognised him.

"Lestrade?"

"Bill! Give us a hand. Got an injured kid here that needs attention. Stabbed I think."

"Why didn't you radio for an ambulance?"

"Off duty. Phone broke."

He realised he hadn't stopped to pick up the broken phone. Between them Lestrade and Bill half-carried the kid into the A&E department. Seeing the blood-soaked boy, the receptionist waved them straight through to cubicles, where they dumped him on a bed, nurses bustling in to attend the patient.

"Mike...? Don't leave me," he moaned in a small voice, barely conscious now.

A stern looking nurse thrust the kid's jacket into Lestrade's arms and ushered them back to the waiting area with instructions to register his details. Details that Lestrade realised he didn't know.

"Where'd you find him?" Bill was asking. "Did you call it in?"

Lestrade shook his head, reluctant to admit he'd picked a random kid up in a notorious part of town. There would be questions he'd have to answer about what he was doing there at that hour and he wasn't ready to talk about Danny right now.

"Um, not far from Kings Cross," he said. "Found him wandering. I recognised him so I stopped..."

"So you know him?"

"Yeah... Um..."

"You're a crap liar Lestrade. Want to start over? Because you're saying you were driving around Kings Cross late at night and just happened to see a kid you know with a mysterious knife wound. No ambulance call, cagey about where you picked him up. What would a SOCO find if he went there? If our roles were reversed you'd have me in an interview room by now. If you know him, what's his name? And why does he know you as Mike?"

Before he could respond the same stern nurse touched his arm.

"Have you registered him yet? Once you have, you can go and see him. Oh, and he asked if you could check his phone is still in his jacket."

Lestrade felt in the pocket of the jacket and pulled out, not only a very expensive phone, but also a designer leather wallet. Either the kid was a thief or he was better off than he looked. Ignoring Bill he went to the desk and flipped the wallet open, pulling out a credit card and checking the name. Mycroft Holmes. Poncey name! He dug further and came up with a photo driving licence. The man in the photo clearly wasn't the same guy, but it saved him thinking up a fake name and address. With any luck the kid would be so out of it, or so keen to stay anonymous, he wouldn't contradict the details. He gave them to the woman at the reception desk then followed the nurse through to cubicles.

"I'm not going anywhere Lestrade," Bill called after him, "I want to talk to the kid."

Lestrade pushed through the curtains to find the boy lying on his back, one forearm pressed over his eyes, the other lying across his upper stomach, one long finger gingerly stroking the skin an inch above a neatly stitched inch-long cut. An IV was slowly delivering blood into his vein. His shoulders quivered with silent sobs.

"You ok?" Asked Lestrade awkwardly.

The boy moved his arm, staring at him with confusion, and from where he stood Lestrade could see recent track marks.

"You're not Mycroft."

"No, but you appear to have his wallet."

"Have you called him?"

"No. Do you want me to?"

The boy was silent for almost a minute then gave a quick nod, covering his eyes once more.

"Number's in my phone," he muttered.

Another nurse pushed through the curtains wheeling a trolley to dress the injury.

"I'll go call then. Be back in a minute."

Lestrade wandered to the exit and took the phone from the pocket. It wasn't locked, so he quickly opened the contacts and was amazed to see only two names listed - Mother and Mycroft. He was tempted to try 'Mother' first; having no idea who the other might be, but he'd told the lad he'd make the call. The phone only rang once before a cultured, yet clearly furious voice answered.

"Sherlock, where the hell are you? I have stopped all of my credit cards so don't think you can use them to..."

"Um, hang on, sorry... Is this Mycroft Holmes?" Lestrade interrupted before the man could continue his tirade. The phone fell silent long enough for the policeman to wonder if the other had terminated the call but then there was a frustrated huff and a more tightly contained voice replied.

"This is he. To whom am I speaking, and why do you have my brother's telephone?"

"My name is Gregory Lestrade. I found your brother in a bad way so I brought him to the hospital. He asked me to call you."

"Did he?" The voice sounded disbelieving, faintly sarcastic. "Where exactly did you find him, Mr Lestrade? The area my brother has chosen to frequent recently would lead me to believe you are not exactly a 'friend'. I assume you are either his dealer, or..."

"Or?" Lestrade said angrily, irritated with this cold, posh voice that hadn't yet even bothered to enquire after his brother's health.

Another pause, then, "one assumes my little brother has added prostitution to his less than enviable skill set, and you are in fact, a client."

"Fuck off, you arrogant twat."

There was a choking on the other end of the line. "Eloquent, Mr Lestrade. I'm sure you get along famously with my dear brother. You both hold me in such high esteem. He's in a bad way you said? Has he overdosed again? You can tell him that I have grown tired of that particular attention-seeking behaviour. Sex for money is new, but hardly worth my notice."

"Look, I don't know why, given that you sound a bit of an uncaring wanker, but he asked me to call you. He's at University College A&E and he'll probably need picking up. Not that you've asked, but he was stabbed and, um... Hit by a car. They've patched him up and are giving him a blood transfusion. Can I tell him you're on your way?"

There was another moment of silence.

"No. My brother is twenty-two years old and no longer my responsibility. As you seem to be doing such an admirable job I'll leave it to you to decide what to do with him, Detective Sergeant Lestrade of New Scotland Yard. Good evening to you."

The line went dead, Lestrade stunned that this Mycroft Holmes seemed to know who he was after a five minute phone call. It was unsettling and more than a little creepy. He looked nervously around the brightly lit car park but couldn't see anyone watching him. With a sigh he pocketed the phone and returned to the cubicles to break the news to Sherlock Holmes that his brother had washed his hands of him.


	3. Chapter 3

Taking Sherlock Holmes home with him was a ridiculous decision made out of guilt that he hadn't been able to protect his nephew from heroin. They drove silently through the early morning London streets back to Lestrade's flat, the policeman watching the road, the young man surreptitiously watching the detective. Lestrade dumped the Mondeo by the side of the road and dug his residents permit from the glove box.

"You hungry?" The boy merely shrugged, his eyes darting around the small flat as though checking for hidden assailants. "Sit down. I've got take-away leftovers to reheat, and then you can tell me about this brother of yours."

"Wanker" muttered the boy, and Lestrade wasn't entirely certain he was referring to his brother.

Their food was ready in less than ten minutes, Lestrade explaining that the take away owner tended to double his order when it got close to closing time. They tucked in to chow mein, both eating from the plastic cartons resting on plates instead of tipping them out. Lestrade faffed around with chopsticks for a couple of minutes before throwing them down in frustration and scooping up a generous bundle of noodles with a fork.

"If that was an attempt to impress me, it was crap," Sherlock observed, forking his own noodles into his mouth like a man half starved. For a skinny kid he had a good appetite, Lestrade noted, but then if he'd been on the streets maybe he hadn't eaten in a while.

"Why would I need to impress you?"

"Dunno. Guilt? Some of them think they have to seduce me to get what they want. They don't get they just have to pay up and I'll do it." He looked around the flat, assessing his surroundings. "Not many bring me home with them though. No discount for comfort, y'know? And no taking the cost of the food off either."

Lestrade flushed crimson, appalled that this boy clearly thought he was here for sex. He felt sad that his brother's assumption Sherlock was selling himself proved to be correct and his thoughts flew to Danny, and what he would be prepared to endure for heroin. "I'm not going to have sex with you, that's not why you're here."

Sherlock watched him warily, watery pale-green eyes considering. "Fifty for the pleasure of my scintillating company then. Some like that too. Someone pretty to talk to."

"I'm not paying you anything for you to blow it all on drugs. Your family will be worried about you."

Sherlock snorted. "You spoke to my 'family'. Did the fat git sound worried to you? He could've come for me any time but he's too busy being all important in his government security job. Probably just makes the tea!"

Government security might explain how the brother knew exactly who he was minutes after learning his name. Significantly higher than a tea boy though. It made his brain itch to realise he was probably now on someone's 'list' - most like Mycroft Holmes' own.

"You should call him. Let him know you're ok and that you're staying here." Might limit the damage if the brother thinks I'm taking care of him, he supposed.

"Staying here?"

"Only for tonight. Then I'm taking you home."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed slyly. "It's a hundred if you want me to stay the night. You get a blow job and a fuck thrown in. I'm worth it."

"You think a lot of yourself. I'm not paying you anything and you're free to walk out of this flat at any time. If you stay you can take a shower and sleep on the couch. Might even make you breakfast before I take you back to your brother."

"And if I refuse?"

Lestrade shrugged, appearing unconcerned when what he really wanted to do was seize the stupid kid by the shoulders and shake some sense into him. Instead he dug the young man's phone out of his pocket and tossed it on the sofa beside him.

"Call your brother. I'll get you a towel and some blankets."


	4. Chapter 4

Sherlock emerged from the bathroom twenty minutes later wrapped in a towel, his dark curly hair dripping into his eyes. The brother had said he was twenty-two but Lestrade would have put him no older than eighteen. He was underweight, every rib and vertebra poking sharply against his white skin, and he had a couple more years of growing to do before he lost the gawky look of a teenager. Patches of his body were marred by bruises of various age, the freshest caused by Lestrade's car, and there were track marks on both arms. His stomach turned when he realised there were places on his belly too where he'd injected. He didn't need to see the lad's thighs to know they would be marked too. Fucking stupid arse junkie kid! Somebody should be caring for him, not leaving him on the streets. Him, and all the other lost souls.

"I've made you tea. There's sugar in the bowl if you want it."

He retrieved the boy's clothes from the bathroom floor, not surprised to see half of them had labels he could never afford on his salary. They were filthy though, and whether they were washable or not, they were going in the washing machine. One way of ensuring the kid stayed put for the night at least. He checked the pockets of his jeans finding a small packet of powder, which he shoved in his own pocket, and a roll of various notes. He flicked through them counting £380. At the rates he'd quoted that was a hell of a night's work. He shoved those in his pocket too, not sure what else to do with it.

Once the wash was underway he went back to the living room. Sherlock was curled up, flicking restlessly through the TV channels, dripping all over the back of the sofa and nursing the empty mug. He held it out absently to Lestrade, eyes never leaving the screen.

"More!" He demanded.

"Fuck off," he responded.

That got his attention. He unfurled his lanky body from the cushions with surprising grace and stalked sinuously towards the policeman, stopping a metre away from the other man. He glared at Lestrade, ripping the towel off and dropping it on the floor.

"You want to talk or fuck? Most prefer to fuck me, but if you want to take that's fine, you just have to get me up first. Hand job or blow me, I don't care but I charge for that separately. Pay first and you use a condom. I assume you've got some? And lube."

His fingers curled around his cock that lay surprisingly heavy in its nest of black curls. He had yet to grow into that too - a man's prick on a boy's body. Lestrade's eye's narrowed.

"Ok, you've done what you set out to achieve - you've managed to shock me. Now put your pathetic little dick away and grow up! If your clothes weren't sopping wet I'd be pushing you out the door right now because you're way more trouble than you're worth. Get it through your thick skull lad that I don't need this shit! I don't want you and I'm certainly not going to fucking pay for you. I'm going to bed."


	5. Chapter 5

Lestrade woke soon after 5am when his bedroom door crashed open and the lanky naked youth came tumbling in, babbling in a frantic voice.

"You have to get up. You have to get up _now_! He's here!"

"Who's here?" Groaned Lestrade peering at the shivering ghostly figure.

"Mycroft. He's here. Please get up. _Please_."

Lestrade's head slumped back on the pillow as he tried to gather his thoughts. Sure enough he heard a sharp rapping at the front door and moments later Sherlock was tugging on his arm like an over-excited child on Christmas morning.

"You have to come now! Come _on_!"

Lestrade reached for his jeans that he'd left on the chair by his bed, only to discover they were missing. He cast around the room, eyes finally falling on them near his bedroom door. Realisation dawning, he grabbed the boy's arm and pulled him down onto the bed beside him. He wriggled; trying to escape Lestrade's grip but the policeman grasped his jaw and turned his head so he could look at his eyes. Sure enough they proved the stupid kid was high again, presumably on the coke Lestrade had discovered in his pocket and hadn't remembered to flush the night before.

"Fucking idiot," he rasped.

The boy had gone eerily still on the bed, his eyes glued to Lestrade's. His licked his lips, a slow deliberate stroke of his tongue that would have been sensual in any other circumstance but right at this moment it made Lestrade's stomach lurch. He was suddenly aware he was pinning a naked boy down on his mattress and the kid was fucking _hard_. He couldn't get out of that room fast enough, not even stopping to pick up his jeans.

The rapping on the door had the odd pattern of being both polite but insistent. If this was the kid's older brother then the sooner he collected the little shit and got him out if Lestrade's hair the better. He threw open the door to be greeted by a tall thin auburn-haired man, dressed head to toe in designer grey and brandishing an umbrella in a somewhat fey manner.

"Mycroft-fucking-Holmes I presume?"

"Charmed to meet you Detective Sergeant. It would appear I have arrived at an inopportune moment. Would you prefer I gave you time to conclude your business with my brother?"

He gave Lestrade an appraising look that could have been interpreted as 'undressing him with his eyes' had Lestrade been wearing anything more than a pair of shabby boxers. Clearly the Holmes brothers had something in common but Lestrade wasn't in the mood for acknowledging his diversity training on sexual orientation. This was an invasion of his bloody home anyway, not his workplace. It was unfortunate - or more likely staged by the manipulative younger Holmes - that Sherlock should choose that moment to emerge from his bedroom stark-bollock-naked and with a raging hard-on.

"For fucks sake, put some clothes on," he growled before realising they were still in the washing machine.

Sherlock smirked at his brother, the manic excitement of earlier apparently passed, to be replaced by a silent challenge to his elder sibling. The brother still waited just outside the door waiting for an invitation to enter. His mouth was compressed in a thin disapproving line and a tiny scowl marred his otherwise smooth forehead. Lestrade wondered uncharitably if the man resorted to Botox, but looking at the Holmes brothers together it just seemed to be sickeningly good genes.

"Come in and shut the door."

He didn't wait to see if Mycroft complied, marching instead to the washing machine and swapping the clothes into the dryer. They'd probably be ruined but it looked like this one could afford to replace them. He could replace Lestrade's phone too for that matter. He thought of the calls about Danny he might have missed and his anger with the two men ramped up another notch.

"Do you perhaps have some clothing my brother could use while we converse? Some underwear at the very least. Sherlock, please accompany the Detective Sergeant to the bedroom and dress. Stay there while we talk."

Mycroft's piercing blue eyes stared down his brother who found it increasingly difficult to maintain eye contact. He scratched at the needle marks on his arm absently, shifting erratically from foot to foot under the weight of that icy gaze. At least his bloody erection was flagging. Lestrade grunted at him to follow and threw a pair of briefs at him. They were ridiculously large on his bony arse but at least he was covered. Obediently he sat on Lestrade's bed, cross legged, waiting for permission to return to the living room. Lestrade found it staggering that the elder brother would have that much power, so presumably Sherlock was precisely where he wanted to be at that moment in time.

Lestrade shook his head and returned to find Mycroft Holmes exactly where he had left him, just by the front door. The thin man quirked an eyebrow at his continued state of undress but Lestrade was feeling belligerent. He slumped on the sofa glaring up at the well-dressed man.

"May I sit?"

"If you must."

"When I left my brother in your care Detective Sergeant Lestrade I rather expected he would spend the night in one of your cells. Imagine my surprise on learning you had brought him into your home. Your superiors may consider that to be unprofessional behaviour."

Lestrade was well aware that he was currently skating on thin ice with his boss. Twice in the last week he'd been in the wrong part of the city when a call had come through, looking for Danny on work's dollar, and his general time keeping was under review. He definitely didn't need a complaint from some jumped up Government official alleging he'd paid his baby brother for sex.

"Are you threatening me?"

"Merely making an observation. My brother's well-being is of grave concern to me. I make it my business to ensure he is not taken advantage of by people of influence for their own ends. Am I being clear?"

"Well if I understand all the flowery language, you're implying I've forced your brother into sex with me instead of slinging him in a cell for selling it elsewhere."

"Forced is perhaps a little strong. Offered leniency as encouragement to comply perhaps. I believe your uniformed colleagues have already submitted a statement reporting your arrival at a local hospital with a bleeding young man. You refused to allow them to speak with him and your relationship is thought to be questionable. Lucky for you my name can make inconvenient little truths like this disappear. It would pain me to have my brother's reputation ruined by a disgraced police officer."

Lestrade snorted at that. The stupid boy needed no help on that score from him. He just wanted him out of his flat and out of his life, and this stuck up wanker with him.

"Look, we didn't have sex. That wasn't why I brought him here. I was trying to keep him safe, believe it or not, but he's a danger to himself and he needs to be in rehab somewhere, not on the streets, and definitely not in my flat! I have my own issues to deal with."

Holmes smiled but it didn't warm those chilly eyes.

"Yes. I understand you were looking for a particular kind of boy. Young, blond and blue eyed."

"Not '_a kind of_' - a very particular boy. My nephew Danny, who is well on his way to being as fucked up as your brother and I don't want _that_ for him!"

He jabbed his finger at the bedroom door to emphasise his point. Mycroft smiled sadly.

"You can only save them if they wish to be saved Gregory. I think, however that we could be of assistance to one another."

"How's that?" Lestrade asked suspiciously,

"Well, you need some help to locate your wayward child, and I need assistance in controlling mine."

"Hell no! I am not babysitting _that_!"

"Think if it more as employment. Something to keep him out of mischief. My brother gravitates to the streets when he is being particularly difficult, but he has built up quite the network of eyes and ears. Even the British Government can find a use for the down and outs of this world."

"I have informants who play by the rules. I don't need to take on a loose cannon."

"No, but I am asking you to. Help me, and we will find your nephew."

"And the statement about my association with Sherlock?"

"Will disappear."

He thought about it for a good five minutes, weighing up his desperation to find Danny against the lifelong debt he'd owe this smarmy man. He wasn't naive enough to think this would be a short commitment, unless of course the stupid kid in his bedroom finally OD'd properly. Even then he was sure Mycroft Holmes would find something to ensure he remained co-operative. Still, he needed to find Danny, and maybe in the process he could help this kid too.

"Agreed, God help me."


	6. Chapter 6

The SOCOs were just finishing up when there was a commotion at the edge of the crime scene beyond the tape. Lestrade looked up from his notebook with a sinking feeling and hurried across to intercept Sherlock Holmes before his DI started yelling at him again. This was the third time in a month the Holmes kid had turned up at a scene and started spouting all sorts of crap about the crime and how it was committed. It hadn't pleased his DI at all when more than half of what he said proved to be correct. He was in danger of ending up in the cells as a suspect.

"What are you doing here? You're going to get us both in deep shit!"

"Helping!" He danced out of reach of Lestrade's outstretched hand. "And I've got something for you."

"Are you high again?"

"Nope! Check!"

He thrust his face close to Lestrade's, eyes staring steadily into the policeman's. They looked slightly wild, but normal for him, no obvious sign he'd taken anything recently. A blood test might tell a different tale but that wouldn't happen unless he kicked off and got himself arrested. Somewhere to his left someone snickered and he looked over to find two uniforms watching them. He knew one of them from his own uniform days - a friend of Bill's and known gossip. Too much to hope that chatter would have disappeared along with the official report.

"This your dirty little secret? Your DI would love to know you're paying to take it up the arse now."

"Fuck off Briggs," he said, guiding Sherlock away into the alley before the stupid kid's mouth could get them into trouble.

"Tenner says he's on his knees down there." Briggs muttered to his colleague loud enough for Lestrade to hear as they passed.

"What have you got for me then?" He asked roughly, his hand still gripping Sherlock's elbow and _stuff it_ if anyone thought more of it.

"Ow, you're hurting. Here!"

He let go of the boy to take the small oblong object he thrust at him.

"Mycroft sent a new phone to replace the one I smashed. He's been through all your calls and messages but there's not much about the kid you're looking for."

Of course he'd been through the phone. Couldn't expect anything else of the sodding intelligence agencies. He was pretty sure that was the branch of Government Mycroft Holmes belonged to from the way he could make data appear and disappear. Some of it had proved very useful to Lestrade over the last couple of weeks, and he'd closed two cases that had been dragging on thanks to some juicy tidbits of information that had come to him via Sherlock's 'eyes and ears'. It was just a shame he couldn't make his brother appear and disappear at will too.

"You said 'not much'?"

"One message from a guy called Benny. Said he had some info."

The phone was fully charged and seemed to be his old number which was surprising considering he hadn't handed over any details to either Holmes. He scrolled through his restored contacts and found a number for Benny Boy. The voice that answered on the second ring sounded as huge as the man himself.

"Mr Lestrade! Got my message, yes?" He boomed. "One of my boys has seen your young man around. I said he needed to talk to you but he's a bit nervous."

"Nothing to worry about Benny. Told you it's all off the record. I'm done in an hour - meet you in your office in two?"

"Sure thing."

"Oh, and I'm bringing someone with me."

He eyed Sherlock who was scuffing around in the dirt a way down the alley, rubbing furiously at his left arm. He'd been out of touch three days this time. No doubt there'd be fresh punctures under that shirt. His brother didn't seem to be doing an awful lot to drag him back from the dark side, so perhaps he should be the one to give things a push in the right direction. Not that he was in _any_ way accepting responsibility for this kid.

"No coppers in my office Greg-oh. You excepted of course."

"It's a friend of mine. A kid. Needs a bit of guidance and I think you're the man he needs."

"He working? Or using?"

"Both. Needs straightening out."

"'Kay, bring him down."


	7. Chapter 7

Benny's 'office' was a surprisingly pristine back street cafe near to Kings Cross that served a mean bacon buttie and tea that would put hairs on your chest. He owned it, and the two flats upstairs that he rented out to staff that needed a roof over their heads while they cleaned up their act. The huge man perched on a wooden chair at a checked Formica table in the window counting an impressive pile of notes.

"Greg-oh! Please sit!"

He narrowed his eyes at Sherlock who stood by Lestrade's elbow trying to appear inconspicuous under the glare of his fierce brown eyes.

"I know him. Smart brain and mouth to match. Thinks he can work a man's patch without consequences. This the friend you want me to sort out?"

"More of an associate. Been forced to take him under my wing but can't have him at my place. People are talking."

Benny laughed, white teeth gleaming in his dark face.

"Still keen to preserve the illusion?"

"No illusion. I'm seeing someone and she wouldn't like the gossip."

The pimp snorted disbelievingly but let the matter drop, waving a chubby brown haired boy over from the corner.

"This is James. He has some info for you. Meanwhile me and this here kid are going to have a chat about what's expected of him if I take him on."

Sherlock looked scared but Lestrade squeezed his arm and ushered him off with Benny, promising not to leave without him. James took Benny's seat nervously.

"Hey James, you know who I am and why I'm here?" The boy nodded his mousy head sharply. "OK. You've seen Danny? Where? How was he?"

"Um, I don't think he wants to be found y'know? He asked me not to say if anyone came looking for him. He's earning good money."

"Look kid I don't care what he said. I need to know where he is. How much for you to tell me? And if you ask for silly money I'll just let Benny beat it out of you. Save your skin and earn some cash."

The boy was clearly fresh on the streets and didn't expect either bribes or threats from a police officer. Lestrade could practically hear the cogs turning in the plump boy's brain as he tried to work out the best answer to give for the greatest benefit. Eventually he said tentatively "£50?"

Lestrade took some notes from his wallet and placed them on the table covering them with his hand so James couldn't pocket them before parting with his information. James licked his lips, a flush creeping over his podgy cheeks. The policeman guessed he normally had to get on his knees a couple of times to earn that, and here was he just handing it over for what he knew. He filed that away, feeling slightly ashamed, that he would consider using this boy in the future when he needed a bit of help. It seemed there were all kinds of prostitution and buying information from vulnerable kids didn't feel a huge step away from paying them to blow you. He didn't look much older than Danny, but at least his bare arms looked clean, so maybe his cash would go towards some decent food and lodgings. Probably best not to think about it too much.

"Um, there are these parties... You know the sort? Rich blokes discussing business. We are part of the entertainment."

"I assume you aren't there to sing and dance?"

James missed the sarcasm in the DS's question.

"If that's what they want. _Anything_ they want. Girls, boys, booze, drugs. They pay a lot of money for new and clean, so they deal with Benny. He doesn't make us, but it's a sweet deal. They don't often ask for much worse than your average punter and they pay three or four times the price. Benny sends dogs with us to make sure we're ok."

"Dogs?"

"Muscle, you know?"

Lestrade nodded to show he understood. He despised this whole underworld but there was no point wishing it would ever go away. Benny was certainly no angel, he profited from these kids probably more than your average pimp due to his good business head, but he tried to give a little back by keeping them safe.

"Danny's not one of Benny's though."

"No, he comes with someone. Never leaves the guy's side all night, the bloke just keeps petting him like a cat y'know? When someone else touched him a while back he gave him such a look - never hit him or shouted, just looked - and the other guy left Danny alone."

"What's this man like?"

"Tall and ginger. Posh suit and shiny shoes. Didn't do much talking but listened carefully to what the others were saying y'know? He buys Danny stuff - nice clothes - and Danny said he doesn't get mad when he sells them or gives them away."

"When and where are these parties?"

"Big fancy house somewhere. Benny'll know. Last one Danny was at was a few weeks ago now though. The man was there on his own last time, so I guess he dumped him."

Lestrade slid the notes across the table and James snatched them up. He glanced anxiously across at Benny.

"It's fine. I'll give Benny a cut - you keep it all. Now scoot. I think he's done freaking Sherlock out."


	8. Chapter 8

Against his better judgement Lestrade took Sherlock home with him again, stopping off for take-away and beer on the way. The kid was quiet in the passenger seat which suited the DS just fine, leaving him space to think, and when they reached Lestrade's flat he carried the food up without being asked. They were halfway through their meal before he spoke.

"Benny offered me a flat."

"Yes. Thought he might."

"He's going to get me off heroin he said. But I have to earn it."

"You're doing it anyway. Might as well get something out of it for you."

God, when had he got so desensitised? Telling the kid one form of selling himself was better than another was hardly responsible on his part. He should be dragging the lad far away from this life not shoving him further into it. No, _he_ shouldn't. That brother of his should, or his parents if they were still alive. If it was Danny sat here in his flat there would be no question of pushing him in the direction of Benny Boy and his 'dogs'. He'd be in rehab by tea time.

"What if I don't want to?"

"Don't want to?"

"Work for Benny. Or get clean. Or any of it."

"I don't understand. Why wouldn't you want to improve your situation?"

"Benny's an improvement on having control over my own life? At least I don't have to answer to anybody. What I earn is all mine."

Lestrade looked at him astounded by his flippancy.

"You're not in control of anything. Not your habit, not your body, and certainly not your fucking life! You say you're earning money, but where is it? Up your fucking nose or destroying your veins. Look, you've shown me you're intelligent, bloody genius at times, but you're wasting it all. Why can't you see that?"

Sherlock had curled in on himself, a tangle of uncoordinated limbs squashed into the armchair. His sullen eyes peeked out from beneath his too-long hair.

"I could stay here. You could help me. If I was Danny you would."

"No way, Sherlock. You have your own family. I don't need the responsibility. Besides I'm a bloody police officer! I can't take in junkies off the street."

"I could pay you." Seeing the look of horror on the policeman's face he hastily added "with money, I mean. I'm not propositioning you."

"And how the hell do you earn your money? Christ! I can see my DI going ape-shit if he found I was taking money from you and dragging me into some disciplinary for living off immoral earnings! I can't do it even if I wanted to, I'm sorry."

The skinny youth's curly head dropped onto his folded arms, hiding his face. A moment later he heaved in a shaky breath, his shoulders twitching with quiet sobs that he tried to muffle in his sleeve.

"Oh for fucks sake!"

Lestrade dumped his plate on the coffee table and slid onto the floor to kneel by the kid's chair. Never the most tactile of men he awkwardly patted Sherlock's back making small circles over his bony spine. Eventually his weeping subsided and he raised a tear stained face to peer at the DS.

"If I find Danny, will you help me, please?"

He nodded reluctantly, feeling he was somehow being manipulated.

"Don't make me regret it."

Sherlock stretched, his shabby t-shirt riding up exposing his skinny torso that had the shadow of lean muscle beneath it. Lestrade allowed himself to look at the kid properly for the first time. He was all long legs and narrow hips, not an inch of flab to be seen anywhere. He clearly didn't eat enough - he'd seen that when the boy was nude in front of him - but he seemed to be relatively fit for someone who was slowly poisoning himself. He was in desperate need of a haircut, but underneath that wild mop was a delicate, face with astounding cheek bones. Not something he'd normally notice on a man, but there was a slight femininity to the fragile male beauty. What a fucking waste, he thought. If he cleaned himself up there'd be plenty of both sexes falling over themselves to date him. In another time he might even have had a go himself if they'd been closer in age - but that time had long gone. Straight as a die these days, far less complicated to conform to the prejudices of the family and his job. The boy pushed his fringe away from his forehead and turned those peculiar pale eyes on him and he found himself blushing.

"I don't charge for looking," he said cockily, running long slim fingers over his knee and stroking up his thigh.

Lestrade got to his feet with a sigh. "No, but looking too hard will be one thing I _will_ live to regret. Goodnight kid."


	9. Chapter 9

Sherlock went missing again after three nights on Lestrade's sofa; unfortunately the other Holmes turned up two days later. The DS couldn't fail to notice the sleek black car resting at the kerb outside his building but he didn't imagine it had anything to do with him until he climbed the stairs to his flat and found Mycroft Holmes leaning patiently against his door, umbrella in hand although there was no rain forecast. Lestrade wondered if he ever used the pointed metal tip to dispatch spies, or if it was just something to keep his hands busy, perhaps a cigarette substitute. The slender man's keen blue eyes regarded Lestrade as he huffed up the remaining steps with his supermarket spoils.

"Don't offer a hand or anything will you?" Lestrade grumped, leaning one carrier against the door and keeping it upright with his foot.

He eventually found his key in the third pocket he checked and juggled his remaining two bags inside, nudging the third past the threshold with his toe. Predictably it toppled over, strewing its contents over the floor. He ignored it while he took the others to the kitchen - tins and packets wouldn't be harmed by a few minutes on the floor - but he was startled to emerge from the kitchen to find the bag neatly repacked and given to him by an elegant hand.

"Thanks," he muttered.

"Don't mention it Gregory. If I may call you Gregory?"

"Done it twice now so I'd say you've practiced enough. Prefer Greg though. Gregory makes me feel like I'm in trouble for something."

"Such as allowing my brother to move in with you? It took some effort to ensure records of your previous liaison were removed from police files. I don't wish to waste valuable resources if you continue to be indiscreet."

Lestrade ignored him, spearing the plastic film on a microwave curry several times and setting the timer. It certainly appeared that Sherlock had moved himself in as some meagre possessions had started to appear around his flat - toothbrush in the bathroom, dirty clothes in the laundry hamper, which Lestrade assumed he'd be expected to wash, unidentified bits of junk on the coffee table that 'must not be thrown away under any circumstances'. The rumpled duvet draped over the sofa should be a clue that they weren't sleeping together but he supposed it didn't really matter - people would make it up to suit themselves. He sighed - he was going to get some serious grief at work and no way of avoiding it.

"Tea?" He asked waving the empty kettle at the other man.

"Please," he agreed. "Where is Sherlock?"

Oh well, might as well get it over with.

"Gone AWOL again. I know roughly where but haven't tracked him down yet."

"You've been looking?"

"I keep an eye out while I'm searching for Danny, who is _actually supposed to be my priority_!"

Mycroft looked uncomfortable for a moment, probably realising the search for an actual kid was slightly more important than looking for a twenty-two year old who acted like one.

"Any news?"

"Yeah, actually. A contact told me he'd seen Danny at some sort of party with a red-haired man."

Perhaps if Mycroft hadn't taken a step backwards, or if he'd never uttered the soft "Oh!" Lestrade would never have made the connection. As it was he suddenly found himself with his strong hands around the taller man's throat, pinning him to the wall and screaming in his face, demanding to know what he'd done to his nephew before he squeezed the fucking life out of him. It wasn't until the grey-suited man began to slide limply down the wall that he came partly to his senses and wheeled away, falling heavily onto the sofa.

Mycroft coughed weakly, clawing at the collar if his shirt until he could take several shaky breaths to calm his racing heart. Any hope of maintaining his composure was definitely gone.

"I suppose I deserved that."

Lestrade sat on his hands - _literally sat on them_ - to stop himself beating the pervert slumped on his living room floor to a pulp. He was breathing hard, willing himself to calm down and remember he was a copper, not just a frightened family member, and finding Danny was more important than killing this bloke. For now anyway.

"Where is he? What have you done to him?"

"Nothing! I haven't seen him for several weeks. I've had Sherlock and his network trying to find him, but he's proving elusive."

"Wait! Sherlock _knows_? Since when?"

"I talked to him the day after I last visited you. By then I was sure Daniel was the boy you were looking for. I told Sherlock I needed him found. I knew Daniel had a problem, and that Sherlock, with his issues, would probably know where to start looking."

"So was forcing your brother on me some sort of fucking compensation for you abusing my nephew? If _I'm_ shagging _him_ I'll have less of a case for hurting you because I'm doing the same to one of your family?"

Holmes squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head emphatically no.

"It wasn't like that. It _isn't_ like that. Daniel and I had an _arrangement_ that worked for us."

"_Danny_. His _name_ is Danny!"

"Yes, Danny, sorry."

Lestrade wanted to vomit, or scream, or break something. He knew Danny was over the age of consent legally, but this felt wrong. The bloke hunched on his floor must be close to his own age, a good fifteen years older than his nephew, and whatever grown-up problems Danny might have had with drugs, he still looked and acted like a boy. Christ, when Sherlock had bloody well presented himself to him, it wasn't lack of interest that had caused him to reject _him_, it was the fact he was far too young.

"What was your arrangement? Did you pay Danny to have sex with you?"

"No! I paid him for… Companionship, I suppose. Sex was not part of the deal, although we tried to sell the _idea_ that we were intimate when I was forced to 'socialise' at certain events."

"Like sex parties?"

"Like business meetings with foreign partners who can be encouraged to 'open up' in a social setting about deals the British Government should be aware of. Loose lips, and all that. It would look suspicious if I didn't choose to indulge myself. It was less so if I brought my own 'special companion' along. I ensured he wasn't passed around."

"Big of you. What about the drugs? Was he still using?"

Mycroft looked at the floor sadly.

"Yes, but I was managing it. Now that he's no longer with me, I fear he may not be so controlled."


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: This is the final chapter and is a bit miserable all things considered, but I hope it explains my take on Lestrade's reason for never giving up on Sherlock (in this 'world' at least). Thanks for reading.**

Tea. It was always tea in a crisis, but he didn't really know why. It gave him something to focus on though, so he filled the kettle, retrieved the mugs, warmed the pot and attended to the brew, all with meticulous care.

The elder Holmes brother was still in his home, but was now pacing and swearing at his phone that continued to ring out. He'd missed a call from Sherlock while they'd argued. They listened to the voicemail together - Sherlock, crying and begging for help from his brother because he'd found Danny and Danny was unconscious with a needle in his arm. Lestrade prayed the kid had had the common sense to stop trying to ring his brother and ring an ambulance instead.

He had finally lost all sense of control and punched Mycroft Holmes hard in the face twice, three times. Holmes had put up no defence, just let Lestrade get it out, and then he'd held the man through a brief bout of dry sobs that neither of them would ever acknowledge again. Now they returned to the civilised ritual of tea and worry, ringing their boys but getting no answer, and waiting desperately for news.

Finally a call came directing them to the same A&E Lestrade had carried Sherlock into several weeks previously. Mycroft's driver dropped them at the door and they hurried to find their loved ones. Sherlock stood just inside the entrance, hugging himself tightly, tears flowing freely down his cheeks. His matted hair was filthy and he stank to high Heaven but Mycroft barely noticed as he pulled him into an uncharacteristic hug. The young man broke down completely, clinging to his brother.

Lestrade was white and shaking, anxiously searching for a nurse or auxiliary who could show him to his nephew. He heard a familiar voice, distorted in its panic, but unmistakably his sister.

"Gina? I'm here Gina. Danny...?"

She threw herself against his chest, pale as a ghost.

"They won't let me see him. They're trying to resuscitate him," she whispered, voice cracking on the words.

He nodded once, swallowing his panic and dredging up the tattered shreds of control he needed to support his elder sister. He held her tightly not bothering with empty words of reassurance - he was a policeman, she had been a paramedic before Danny - they had both seen too much to do anything but pray. He led her to a quiet corner and wrapped his arms around her, neither speaking until a lilac uniform stood before them.

"Mr & Mrs Lestrade?"

"Oh, she's my sister. Danny's mum. I mean, I'm his uncle."

She smiled gently at them, ignoring his babbling, touching Gina's arm.

"Would you come with me? The doctor will speak with you both."

They followed wordlessly past the cubicles and rooms full of equipment to a small office, and Lestrade knew that he would come out of that room a changed man. He gripped his sister's hand, reminded of all the times she'd held his as a child, taking him to school or teaching him to cross the road safely. He couldn't protect her from this and it made him angrier than he'd ever felt in his life.

The doctor was waiting in his pristine white coat wearing the look of sympathy they were taught in medical schools. The 'breaking bad news face' they joked at the Yard. No longer funny when you're on the receiving end. He told them he was sorry and that they did everything they could but that Danny had suffered a cardiac arrest from which he hadn't recovered. He told them they could see him soon, and then he gave them the privacy to face the end of their world.

* * *

Gina wanted some time alone with Danny so he headed outside. She had never married Danny's father and he hadn't visited in a few years but he would have to be told, so Lestrade had volunteered to make the call. The man was distant, asking questions and offering condolences, but it was evident that his Uncle Greg had been more of a father to him and that wouldn't change with his death. Lestrade didn't even expect him to attend the funeral and he was fairly sure Gina wouldn't want him there.

His eyes were sore from weeping and he couldn't seem to rid himself of the lump in his throat no matter how many times he swallowed. How had he failed Danny so badly? Gina and his dad had split when he was only five, and since then he'd tried to step in and be a guiding hand. They'd educated him about the dangers of alcohol and drugs, but he'd gone down that road anyway, and they hadn't even noticed until it was too late. He remembered Mycroft Holmes' words - "You can only save them if they wish to be saved". It was too late now to ask what he wanted, but just maybe he could help another.

He found the Holmes brothers in the Gents; Sherlock crouched on the floor of the cubicle retching over the toilet bowl, Mycroft standing guard to turn away curious offers of assistance. The elder watched him warily, no doubt wondering if another beating would be forthcoming. He'd washed his face but his nose was swollen and there was blood on the front of his normally immaculate shirt.

"You've heard?"

Mycroft nodded and a surprising flash of pain flitted across his smooth features.

"We're sorry for your loss. _I'm_ sorry. I should have done more for him. When I realised Danny was your nephew I told him our association had to end. He was upset, but I never imagined..."

"Don't waste your time being _sorry_," Lestrade spat, "use it to get _him_ off this filth. Don't lose him to it because you will _never_ forgive yourself-"

A sob broke free and he turned his face to the wall seeking that calm centred place that would help him grind out the words he needed to say to them.

"When I've taken Gina home, go and see him please? Go and look at what we've lost and _think_. I _will_ help you - both of you - if you want me to, but I need time. I won't let this shit take another kid if I can help it. One month. Give me a month and then come and see me and we'll talk. If he's still alive and willing, then we will make sure he has some sort of future. If he gets clean, I'll let him work. I'll find a way to bring him in to help, but it'll be up to him. His choice; he has to want it more than drugs."

Mycroft looked at his younger brother, curled on the floor, staring emptily into a future he couldn't comprehend.

"He told me you promised to help him if he found Danny. Thank you for keeping your word, in spite of the circumstances. We'll see you in one month, I promise. Until then, goodbye Detective Sergeant."

He held out his hand, and they shook on it.

End


End file.
